Colin and I had a nice weekend. We stayed at home, created our own movie marathon and took turns picking films to watch. We lounged around in our jammies and ate microwave popcorn by the box load. The movies I picked were all spy thrillers. Espionage. Covert ops. And I thought about what to do all weekend. I have a plan.
The thing is, I can’t stand feeling like a victim. Feeling trapped. I’m afraid to leave my apartment! I never know when Jeremy will be out there, waiting. Watching me. I can’t stand it anymore. Time to turn the tables. Time for the worm to turn.
I got ready as soon as Colin left for class. Since today was a rainy, somewhat cool, day I put my hair up under a hat. Put on an old baggy trench coat of Colin’s. I found an old pair of sneakers I haven’t worn in years, took a nondescript black umbrella and sort of snuck out behind a couple of our neighbors as they were leaving. I turned and walked the opposite direction from the way I usually go and walked the long way around to the subway. Just in case Jeremy was out there, watching. I bought a newspaper to hide behind. I went to watch Jeremy’s apartment building.
There’s a Dunkin Donuts on the corner down the block from his building and I sat there drinking way too many cups of coffee, pretending to read the paper and watching the building. Jeremy went into the building about 11 AM and left about an hour later. I followed him. He went down into the subway station 3 blocks away. It’s a small, mostly deserted station in the off hours so I couldn’t follow him down without him seeing me. He could have been going to NYU, my house or anywhere else downtown. Nothing else happened. I waited a couple more hours but he didn’t come back. I finally had to just go home. Lame. I don’t know what I thought I’d find out. I just wanted to take some action. Stalk the stalker.
But while I was waiting, getting amped up on caffeine, I kept thinking about what to do. Fantasizing, more like. Rehearsing different scenarios in my head.
In one, I get a gun. I buy one off the street in the Bronx or Spanish Harlem. Some rough neighborhood where life is cheap and guns are sold on street corners. Or drive to some other state with no waiting period and buy one under an assumed name. with a fake ID. And then I get directions off the internet for making a homemade silencer out of common household items. I would take this contraption in a bag to Jeremy’s house and shoot him when he answers his door and walk away. Quietly, like a hit man. Getting away, scot free.
Think I’ve seen too many bad movies? Yeah.
Okay, getting a gun might be difficult. So then I thought, I’ll get your typical blunt object. Like a crowbar. Go to his door and just blitz attack, overpower him and bash his skull in. I’ve seen those forensics shows on TV. I’d wear a jumpsuit and a hood to cover my clothes and hair from the mess it would make. I would get the job done and remove the outer layer of clothes, put everything in a bag and walk away. Calmly, like a career criminal. No one would suspect me.
Hmm, maybe poison.
Only one problem. I don’t think I could do any of it.
But I have to do something. I can’t go on like this. I have to either take some action or give up. And I can’t give up. I don’t even know what giving up would mean. Leaving New York? Leaving Colin? Talk him into moving to Wyoming and changing our names? Skulking away in fear? Nah…none of that works for me. And I’m not too sure how much freelance art work in available in Wyoming.
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